


Auld Lang Syne

by sagiow



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, New Year's Fluff, New Years, Season 3 that never was, Vignette, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow
Summary: Warm wishes for a new year





	1. Chapter 1

"Happy New Year, soldiers! May 1863 bring us resounding victory over the Rebels, and may we celebrate the next holidays as heroes in our homes!”

“Hear, hear! Three cheers for Doctor Hale! Three cheers for the Union!”

With a magnanimous smile, Hale raised his glass to his bedridden yet cheering troups, to the orderlies and doctors joining them with enthusiastic claps. No Hastings to glare at him disapprovingly for some obscure reason, no Foster to steal his thunder, no Diggs to wordlessly remind him he did not deserve it in the first place.

There could be no greater company, no sweeter music to his ears to ring in the new year.


	2. Chapter 2

“I cannot believe you’re making me stay up until midnight,” scolded Mary as she stifled a yawn.

“And let you miss the beginning of the new year?” Jed replied. “That would be a poor omen indeed.”

“As if _you_ gave any credence to such foolish superstitions,” she scoffed.

“I do not, but I’m neither fool enough to risk it, especially in such cosy company.”

He gently replaced the paisley shawl that covered her shoulders, its colorful pattern shimmering as he softly rubbed her arm in the process. He had gifted it to her for Christmas and she had gasped upon receiving it, calling it an extravaganze he could not afford, money that would have been better spent on food or supplies for the soldiers or the camp, and he had shushed her with a kiss. Her convalescence progressing slower that he would have liked, she often suffered from the cold, especially in the evening, and he argued there could be no better use of his money than ensuring her comfort with only the finest that could be found. She had finally accepted it relunctantly, frowning and warning him that it would be their secret, and admonishing him against ever buying her such lavish presents again. As he often did these days, he laughed it off merrily. However, she now smiled at him and wore it happily, eyes bright despite the dark circles that lined them, and covered his hand with hers, nestling closer to him. The fire crackled brightly in front of them, sitting comfortably on chairs they had placed as close together as they could, the door to his office firmly locked against any wayward intruder.

Finally, the clock on the mantle struck twelve. Jed brought her hand to his lips and placed the softest of kisses to her knuckles. “Happy New Year, Mary. May it bring you back your health and strength, so we may spend many such late evenings together.”

In answer, she reached out to stroke his cheek, and kissed him fully, tenderly at first, but with a growing intensity that betrayed a much stronger desire. “And may this wretched war end, and the work here with it, so we can finally start our life together.”

He shook his head. “You just say the word and we will be married. Tomorrow, if you wish it. God knows I most desperately do,” he added hoarsely, pressing his forehead against hers.

She sighed and closed her eyes, taking in his scent, his touch, his warmth, his love. “We both have yet some healing to do. May 1863 bring us patience and fortitude, my darling Jed. Our reward will be sweeter still.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Happy New Year, Miss Jenkins! And to you, Dr. Diggs!”

Every man, woman and yawning child shook their hands as they left the decorated classroom to return to their beds, their modest party at an end, but with no shortages of smiles, filled bellies and good wishes.

“Their first year as free folk,” Samuel commented. “What do you think they all wished for?”

“For Alexandria never to fall into Confederate hands,” Charlotte replied, busying herself with tidying up the room. “Or for a safe place to go to from here where their former masters won’t ever find them.”

“Ever the romantic, Charlotte.” He dropped to a chair, stretching out his legs in front of him. “Hey, will you quit cleaning up and be still for a moment? You haven’t stopped all night.”

She straightened up, kneading the knots at the nape of her neck. “I’m afraid that if I stop, I won’t be able to get back to it afterwards.”

“So what? You deserve a break after tonight’s success. Come, sit with me for a bit. Tell me what you’re wishing for this new year.”

She hesitated, taking in his eager expression, his earnest interest. “Not sure you’ll like what it is,” she warned him.

“Now you got me real intrigued,” he replied, patting the chair next to him. “Fire away.”

Almost reluctantly, she took the offered seat, pausing an instant to weigh her words. “I wish the people weren’t wrong in calling you Dr. Diggs.” At his frown, she added, as blunt as she could be: “I want you to go to medical school, Samuel. Become a real doctor. It was foolish of you to let that opportunity pass you by.”

He exhaled and leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Well, we all do foolish things for what we believe to be good reasons.”

“What could be a better reason than going to university to learn medicine?”

He stared at his hands, debating the best way to deliver his oft-delayed confession. “You. This.” he answered finally, simply, with a playful nudge of his elbow. “I wanted to do this with you.”

It was her turn to be silent. His words were not unexpected, nor undesired, but to hear him utter them did not bring her the joy she had thought it might. Not when it turned out she was the chain keeping him from flying, soaring and reaching the highest pinnacles any of their people might ever dream of.

“You know what my wish for this year is?” he continued, breaking the silence and interrupting her mental debate. “That you’d give me a fair chance.”

“A fair chance at what?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“At being your man. Standing by your side. Making you happy.”

She sighed; there it was, but it could not be. Not now, when more important callings beckoned. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you become a doctor, Samuel.”

Resigned, he nodded. “Well, that’s that,” he said glumly and moved to stand. It was the right thing to do, and to say, but it hurt Charlotte more than she would have expected. Sensing the door closing on any potential future they might share, she reached out impulsively to touch his thigh.

“If you go, I’ll wait for you,” she blurted out. “I’ll be with you when you come back… That is, if you’ll still want me when you’ll be the famous Dr. Diggs and have the whole world at your feet,” she added self-deprecatingly, as to soften the blow of her fall.

A smile slowly broke across his face, and he took her hand in his. “There’s no fair chance of that ever happening, Charlotte, but I think there very well might be one for both of us to get our wish.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Happy New Year, my Belle,” George crooned as he wrapped his arms around Belinda. She huddled closer into his embrace, kissing his cheek, and pulled the quilt to cover them. The small fire kept the alcove that served as their bedroom barely warmer than cool, but they did not mind it in the least. They had a comfortable bed, plenty of blankets, and each other. And all belonged only to them.

“Happy New Year, Husband Dear. What do you hope for this year?”

George pondered this, rubbing her back. “That it’ll be the first of many. That our age won’t rob us of the long and happy marriage we always wished for.”

“Life owes us decades; she’ll let us have at least one,” Belinda affirmed. “Besides, we’re fit as fiddles, strong as oxen, and our wits are still sharper than those of the whole Green family put together.”

He laughed loudly at this. “Shush, woman. Don’t invoke demons in this hallowed place of ours.”

“Not that they’d stoop so low as to come in,” she retorted. “But you’re right. This haven is only for you, me and God. Now let’s say our prayers before we turn off the light and you kiss your wife.”

“Amen.”

The candle was blown out, and cheerful laughter resounded in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

“Happy New Year, my love,” said Jane from her upholstered armchair, as she gazed wistfully at the few futile attempts at cheerful decorations, the silent piano, the empty room.

“Happy New Year, my dear,” James replied, offering her a glass of spirits. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but brandy seemed more of circumstance than Champagne this year.”

She accepted it gladly and took a sip, swirling the amber liquid around the crystal balloon. “I’m just relieved 1862 is finally over. What a terrible ordeal it has been for our family… I do not think 1863 could ever be worse.”

“Well, it’s off to a poor start,” sighed James bitterly as he leaned against the mantle. “Our business ruined, and two of our children as well with their dim-witted “contributions” to the glorious Cause.”

“They are not ruined yet!” she cried. “Jimmy has gone out West to escape Pinkerton’s investigation, he may yet make something of himself out there. Alice is at my cousin’s in Savannah, surrounded with proper Southerners; she will not come close to any Yankee officers there.”

“Which is precisely where that other daughter of ours is right now, preferring to greet the new year in a Union Army hospital rather than with her parents. I don’t know whether to take that as outright treason or finally some sensible self-preservation in our offspring.”

Jane slammed her glass onto the table, drops spilling onto the rich mahogany. “At least Emma is safe there! Surrounded with people who mean her no harm and even respect her! And I’d rather have her marry a Yankee than see her exiled like our other two, or worse, buried next to Tom Fairfax!”

Stunned, James turned to face her, and was met with intolerable anguish, his wife’s precarious health further slipping away from her.

 “I just wish for our children to be safe, James. I don’t care anymore if we lose everything else, our fortune, our house, our name, but God, not our babies…” At this, her voice cracked, and she buried her face in her hands.

He quickly crossed the room and knelt at her feet, gathering her in his arms as she sobbed violently.

“So do I, sweetheart. So do I.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Nurse Hastings?” Matron Brannan greeted Anne as she entered the kitchen, hoping for a morsel to eat after a late night in the ward with the heavier cases. “Would you care to share a drop to welcome the new year? I got me some whiskey from the boys in the Irish Brigade.”

“Truly? After the heavy casualties they received in Fredericksburg, I’m surprised they would be willing to share it.”

Bridget shrugged. “They’re good lads. We prayed, sang a few tunes for their fallen brothers. Some said I reminded them of their home, of their ma’s.”

She said so with a detachment quite unlike herself. Her spirit, typically so spry and sharp, was dulled by a half-hidden sorrow. Anne did not speak, but only reached out to touch her shoulder, supporting her silently to go on.

“It mostly feels odd, really,” Bridget explained after some time. “The first holidays without any of me sons. They hadn’t all been home for Christmas since they were wee lads, and his brothers breathed their last before he did, but Declan always sent a card, sometimes even a nice long letter. I keep expecting it in the mail, or have him just appear round the corner. He always enjoyed surprising me.”

Anne swallowed, remembering her short dalliance with the man, the pain delivered by the brusque army letter informing his mother of his disgraced passing. She thought of her own mother, gone for many years, of her sister she had received no news of in many months, of the few precious Holiday memories of them all together she still cherished more than any present ever received. “Matron, I’m so sorry. I know how difficult it can be, to be without family on days such as this. Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes,” Matron replied curtly, drawing herself back up. “Have that damn drink with me.”

“Of course,” Anne stammered, and took a seat at the table.

Bridget poured them two glasses, and they raised them. “I know an Irish toast,” Anne offered.

“An Englishwoman toasting the Irish? That’ll be a first. Go on then.”

Anne cleared her throat and took a moment to recall the words from memory: “ _Always remember to forget_

_The things that made you sad._

_But never forget to remember_

_The things that made you glad.”_

Bridget smiled and pursued. _“Always remember to forget_

_The friends that proved untrue._

_But never forget to remember_

_Those that have stuck by you.”_

They clinked their glasses and downed them in one swig. “That was well spoken, and deserves another toast,” Matron said, as she refilled the tumblers, and raised hers. “Here’s to family: to the one we’re given and the one we make our own,” she concluded with a wink.

Moved, Anne touched her glass to hers. “To family, and a happier 1863.”

They drank in unison, and again until the flask was empty, but their hearts felt full with the shared laughter and tears of their impromptu late hours together.


	7. Chapter 7

The soldier had died with the old year, and they began the new with heavy hearts and the small comfort of well–known Psalms. Henry had closed his prayer book, Emma had pulled the sheet over the man’s face, and they had nodded to the orderlies that still remained in the ward. One last bed to free before they could retire, one last trip to the morgue below. The new year did not care: it was just as ruthless as the old.

Weary, Emma and Henry left the sleeping ward, thinking solely of their own rest and comfort. They rounded the steps on the dark landing, lit only by the flickering lamppost outside the window, when she stopped in her tracks.

“Is it wrong of me to find it becoming easier?” she asked, point-blank. “Watching men die?”

Startled, Henry turned back to look at her, and pondered her question. “No, I think it’s only natural to grow used to sorrow that becomes common place. We humans are quite resilient creatures; we have to be, to survive in the midst of unspeakable horror. Unless you mean death no longer moves you at all…?”

“No, of course not; I still find it incredibly tragic for young men to have to die so unfairly, but in most cases, I no longer lie sleepless at night over it. They are soldiers, after all, and we did all we could to help them… oh, you must think this so very callous of me!” she fretted, twisting her hands.

“Miss Green… Emma, I think you know “callous” is probably the last word I’d ever use to describe you,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

She furrowed her brow, her interest playfully piqued despite her trouble. “Is that so? What word would you use instead, Chaplain?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” he made a show of deliberating, as he approached her. “Kind. Able. Brave. Stubborn. And… absolutely enchanting,” he concluded, halting within a foot of her, an adoring expression unabashed on his face.

“Do stop, you’re making me blush,” she scolded, with no visible flush to her cheeks, as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck.

He did not move away, but rather gently wrapped his arms around her waist. “If it will stop you from worrying, I shall continue all night long. All this new year, if I must.”

“That will not be necessary. This is doing nicely. And this will do nicer still.”

She drew herself up and brushed his lips with her own. She felt him hesitate before returning the kiss, betraying his still baffling awkwardness with the new stage their relationship had entered.

 “A brand new year,” she sighed, after pulling away. “May it bring us peace. To our country, and to that conflicted soul of yours, Henry, so you may finally stop seeing me as your weakness, and welcome me into your life.”

“And may it bring peace to your troubled heart, Enchanting Emma. Please rest assured that you as my weakness was very much last year’s struggle. Now I know you can only be my greatest strength. I will strive to be worthy of it.”

He kissed her once more, and there was no trace of awkwardness left to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is close to a week overdue, and probably quite similar tonally to middlemarch's "To comprehend a nectar" although with much less inspired prose, I considered not posting it, but what the heck, it's not like we're burried in new stuff, so have it anyway. 
> 
> Takes place in my hypothetical S3tNW, although Emmry have moved further along their relationship than posted so far, because I thought readers might enjoy them finally get some traction instead of just blushing and gazing longingly at each other. 
> 
> Jed's still -rightfully- paying his dues, though.


End file.
